


Be My Little Baby

by objectlesson



Category: Spies In Disguise (2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Check-Ins, Corruption Kink, Daddy Kink, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Incest roleplay, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, M/M, There may or may not be one of those onesies with the butt-flap heavily featured, littlespace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: “Are you—is this one of those times when you feel like a kid?” he asks gently, not wanting to get too carried away and suggest they pause the movie in favor of heading into his bedroom if Walter is a distinctly not-sexy headspace. Lance doesn’t know how this thingworks,exactly, and he wants to be respectful.“Um. Yes,” Walter admits, hiding his face even more, cheeks hot against Lance’s throat.Lance pulls his hand out of the onesie. “That’s fine, we don’t have to—““No,” Walter says suddenly, reaching for Lance’s wrist and guiding it right back where it was. “I…I like it. When you touch me.”
Relationships: Walter Beckett/Lance Sterling
Comments: 69
Kudos: 514





	Be My Little Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Oh....boy. Yeah So I considered posting this anon because it's the exact type of thing I can imagine people getting up in arms about, but I alluded to it on tumblr and so many people asked for links in case I did post it anon, and somehow sending links out for a incest role-play pigeon movie fic was MORE embarrassing so I'm just gonna post it and hope people can be mature. Please read the tags on this one. I know I write daddy kink a lot but this is way more ageplay/age regression centric, and has an explicit father/son incest role-play element to it instead of like, daddy being a term used to describe a nebulous caregiver/tender Dom role. That being said it's really sweet and there's loads of explicit verbal consent and both of these characters are grown adult men! Don't be weird. 
> 
> Anyway, I love those onesies with the butt-flap, so sexy. I also DON'T draw the line at my little pony, personally, but this isn't about me, so. Also I apologize for this not being that well written, it's extremely self-indulgent. Enjoy, and don't read if you're worried you won't.

At first, Lance just thinks Walter’s affinity for glitter and kittens and stuffed animals and pink is a millennial gay guy thing. That if he were dating _any_ millennial gay guy, they’d be into the same stuff. He hardly questions it; it doesn’t _bother_ him. He thinks it’s cute, actually, that it’s _endearing_. When he gets groceries or laundry detergent at Target, he stops at the dollar bin to see if they have anything holographic or with unicorns on it and if they do, he buys it for Walter, because it makes Lance feel all proud and fluttery inside to see his face light up when he kisses his cheek and tells him, _got you a present, baby boy._

It’s only after they go out with some of Walter’s friends, (who are _also_ gay millennials) that Lance realizes he might have been unfairly generalizing Walter’s preferences. None of the other guys Walter introduces him to have shirts with tiny purple dinosaurs on them, or a translucent, plastic, aquamarine dolphin shaped wallet. It’s just _Walter._ Walter who orders enamel pins off of Etsy, Walter who goes to craft stores on his days off and comes back with a bedazzled and fake flowers to decorate his cubicle at work with. It’s just _Walter_ who has a fucking Furby collection sitting on the shelves in he set up in their home-lab. 

The singularity is what makes Lance finally ask, one night when they’re sitting on the couch cuddled up watching an anime called High School Host-something because Walter acted like it was _blasphemy_ Lance has never even heard of it. Lance has had a few beers, and it’s only just occurred to him that anime is a _cartoon,_ one of one hundred little-kid things Walter likes and—he just wants to _know,_ really, if it means anything. If it’s a quirk he can indulge guilt free, or if they need to talk about it. “Baby, I got a question for you,” he mumbles, lips pressed to the glass neck of a Corona. Walter shifts against him, enough that Lovey, who was digging around in his hair, haughtily takes flight, making Lance jump because he’s _still_ not used to having a pigeon flapping in his ear, even if he sometimes _is_ the pigeon flapping in other people’s ear. 

Walter pauses the show, because he’s meticulous about making sure Lance doesn’t _miss_ anything. “Yeah, sure? Do you need me to switch to the dub? I can if you want, I know the subtitles are sort of annoying to read, and —“

“No, no, not about the show. Just about—about all this,” Lance offers, gesturing to Lance’s PJs, which are fleecy and soft and patterned with the Paw Patrol dogs. Before Walter, Lance didn’t even know Paw Patrol _existed._ Now he knows each of their names, and it’s only just occurring to him _now_ how unusual that is. “The…I dunno. At first I thought of it as like, girly stuff, but it’s not even that it’s girly, it’s like…kid stuff? And it doesn't bother me, baby, not even a little. I just want to know everything about you, huh? Everything that goes on in that brilliant crazy head of yours,” he explains, threading his fingers through Walter’s hair and ruffling it. “Guess I wanna know why you like it all so much.” 

He expects a flippant answer before Walter deflects and starts talking about the show again, so he’s stunned to silence when Walter _blushes_ violently instead, squirming into the cushions with red cheeks. “Um,” he says, tugging a string at the hem of his shirt. “You’re sure it doesn’t bother you? Because I’ve always—I was totally convinced for years I’d _never_ get a boyfriend because of it.” 

“What?! That’s crazy talk, look at you. You’re too cute to resist. I had to knock four other guys out just to ask you out,” Lance jokes, tugging him close until he melts against his chest, breath coming out in an uneven huff. “I like it, angel. I think it’s cute. And I guess maybe _that’s_ why I want to know more about it.” 

Walter frowns against him, rubbing his cheek into the worn out cotton of his shirt. “I get it,” he mumbles. “Promise you won’t freak out, though?” 

“Promise. Gonna take a lot more than some possessed Furbys to scare me away, boy. Now spill.”

Walter gasps, then wriggles out of his grip. “They’re not _possessed!”_ he says, looking scandalized. Lance grins at him. He _knows_ Walter’s convinced his Furby collection isn't positively terrifying; he’s gone and _named_ them all like that makes it better, he's invented personalities for them, has detailed lists of their likes and dislikes and social circle, enough information to fill fucking _tinder bios_ for each individual Furby if he wanted to. And on paper, maybe that sounds weird… but Lance just _loves_ him. Loves his wildly creative brain, that he’s always _making_ something, even if it’s a tinder bio for a furby. Walter never stops telling stories and finding ways to make scary shit beautiful, and pink, and glittery. 

“Fine, fine. They’re not possessed. They’re creepy all on their own.” 

Walter pouts. “You’re not inspiring me with _confidence_ I can tell you any of this stuff.” 

“Ok, shit, m’sorry,” Lance says, immediately sobering up, wanting to assure him. “Shoot.” 

Walter takes a deep, dramatic breath, wringing his hands in his lap for a moment before he winces. “This is stupidly hard, but, uh, I guess it’s sort of that…I like to feel…. _little_ sometimes? Like, that feeling of being a kid, where you don’t have to worry about stuff and can just…play?” 

“Alright,” Lance says, forcing himself to nod encouragingly as Walter eyes him with wariness, eyes narrowed in defense like he expects him to yell, or freak out. “So like, not having responsibilities?” he tries, wanting him to keep talking about it. So he knows, so he can _understand._

“I mean, sort of, but not _just_ that. It’s more like, I like…things when they’re soft, and warm, and cute, and safe, and…uncomplicated. And I like being _babied,_ which is why you’re, um, a very good boyfriend for me,” he adds in a rush, rubbing at the back of his neck and flushing a little. Lance wants to gloat, but he settles for beaming instead, since Walter isn’t finished and he doesn’t want to stop him from confessing more. “I went to college when I was a _kid,_ Lance. It was a lot. And back then I was _so_ hellbent on fitting in and growing up fast and—I dunno. I feel like I sort of missed out on getting to watch cartoons and play with stuffed animals and make believe as long as other people my age did? So… I do it now.” 

Lance nods, throwing back some of his beer thoughtfully. He doesn’t want Walter to think any of this makes him uncomfortable, so he reaches out and squeezes his knee, thumbing over it reassuringly. “Ok. I get it,” he starts with, nodding. “No judgement over here. And this next question is just, uh, coming from the point of view of someone who does _adult_ things with you—“ 

“Oh _god,_ no, please don’t let this send you back into the ‘you’re not ready to have sex’ spiral,” he begs, collapsing into Lance’s lap, rucking his shirt up so he can press his face fiercely into the ladder of his abs. He opens his mouth so it spreads wet and hot over skin and _fuck,_ Lance’s stomach drops so hard at that, plummeting like a stone tossed into the sea. This thing With Walter—the _purity_ of his attraction— it still takes him by surprise sometimes. He’s astounded by how badly he _wants_ him all the time, how _deeply_ his heart tugs every time those candy-pink lips as pressed wet and swollen against any part of his body, how ready he very nearly _always_ is to drop whatever they’re doing and take Walter to bed. He makes Lance feel _young_ again, and excited again, and maybe even a little scared. He’s not used to caring about anyone save for himself and it’s…it’s nice. 

“ _No,_ not this time,” he promises, peeling Walter off so they can finish this conversation before things devolve too much and he can’t focus on anything but how faint his freckles are, how they disappear when he flushes. “I’m over that.” 

“Are you?” Walter asks, frowning against taut brown skin, cheek mashed up against muscle. “You still fuck me like I’m made of glass.” 

“You weigh ninety pounds!” 

“I weigh _one hundred and eighteen_ pounds, and I’m twenty one years old and a fucking adult and you can _quit_ trying to find reasons to freak out me being younger, ok?” 

Lance cards his fingers through Walter’s messy auburn hair, scratching at his scalp. “It’s not because you’re younger _,_ it’s because you were a virgin when we met and that gave me some _understandable apprehension,_ I think, about this, alright? But m’over it, or, m’ _trying_ to get over it, which is why I wanted to know more about the uh—-the kid-thing.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because I’m _not_ a kid. I just sort of like to pretend I’m one sometimes,” Walter mumbles, shrugging, hiding his hot face in Lance’s stomach. “Is that weird?” He asks then, voice coming out muffled. 

“Hey, maybe, but who cares? Not me. You could pretend to be—I dunno—a _pigeon_ sometimes and I’d still be this fucking in love with you, so. M’not judging. You do you, baby.” Lance promises, twisting an unruly whorl of hair around his index finger. 

He feels Walter smile against his skin, and then he feels the slick of his tongue, the heat of his breath, and before they can talk anymore, Walter’s mouth is full, and Lance forgets whatever he was worrying about in the first place. 

—-

Lance doesn’t think about it for a few weeks, because it doesn’t really come up. They’ve had a stressful week at work; Walter is launching a new project and he’s been completely immersed in making sure it runs smoothly. By the time he gets home, all he has time or energy to do is scarf down some food while he double checks algorithms and formulas, and then crash. He’s mostly been sleeping in boxers, Lance doesn’t even _see_ any of his cute PJ pants until the project is launched and a success. When Walter finally shuffles out into the living room after work wearing his favorite onesie (the baby blue one with the buttoned butt-flap that always makes Lance feel ten different kinds of confused longing) the first night after the launch, Lance’s heart clenches at the sight. _That’s_ his boy. 

“You look _tired,_ baby,” he says, holding out his arms, gesturing for Walter. “C’mere, lemme take care of you.” 

Walter collapses gratefully, snuggling against him on the couch and sighing. “I’m tired, but m’also _good_. It went well, right? they _liked_ it?” 

“Went _perfect,_ they _loved_ it and they love _you_ and so do I, so. There’s not a single thing you have to worry about for the whole weekend. I get you all to myself,” Lance promises him, rubbing a big, comforting hand up and down his side. Walter lets out a laugh that’s almost part sob. It makes Lance hug him closer, burying his face protectively in his hair before kissing the top of his head. “What do you want to do tonight?” he mumbles, mouth full of hair. 

“Watch cartoons and cuddle,” Walter says against his shoulder, looking up with eyes so bright they hurt to look at. “Is that ok, or too boring?”

Lance shakes his head. “Cartoons and cuddles comin’ right up. Express delivery for my boy.” 

Walter groans into him. “You don't even really _know_ how perfect you are for me,” he says then, hooking an arm around Lance’s waist and settling close. 

Lance squeezes him, presses another kiss to his temple, where he smells like his fruity L’oreal kids shampoo that comes in the fish shaped bottle. “Oh, I know.” 

—-

About an hour into The My Little Pony movie, Lance starts to get restless. It’s not that he hates it, ( in fact, it sort of slaps.) It’s more that Walter’s made him watch it _so_ many times he’s struggling to pay attention, and Walter is so _warm_ and soft against him, wiggling closer every time the villain is on screen, holding onto him so tight—and they haven't fucked in a _week_ , both too tired and occupied with work. It feels _damn_ good to have Walter so close, his body flush and his ass visible in moments as he shifts, skin pale and teasing through the slits on either side of his onesie butt-flap. He’s warm and he smells good and Lance _wants_ him, so without even really thinking, his hand starts to wander. 

At first he’s just rubbing it idly up and down Walter’s side, squeezing his hip, thumbing gently along the back of his neck, kneading small, sweet circles into the outside of his thigh. Walter keeps murmuring gratefully, so Lance is encouraged, nudging the tips of his fingers under the hem of the butt-flap, smoothing into the creamy warmth of his ass-cheek. Walter whimpers, canting up to press his face into Lance’s neck, lips against his pulse. “Feel good, baby?” Lance asks, razing blunt nails gently against bare skin. 

“Yeah,” Walter mumbles. “S’nice.” His voice is high and sweet and — _childlike,_ cracking a bit, slurring, and everything they talked about last week comes rushing back into Lance’s head, unbidden. His hands stills reflexively. 

“Are you—is this one of those times when you feel like a kid?” he asks gently, not wanting to get too carried away and suggest they pause the movie in favor of heading into his bedroom if Walter is a distinctly not-sexy headspace. Lance doesn’t know how this thing _works,_ exactly, and he wants to be respectful. 

“Um. Yes,” Walter admits, hiding his face even more, cheeks hot against Lance’s throat. 

Lance pulls his hand out of the onesie. “That’s fine, we don’t have to—“ 

“No,” Walter says suddenly, reaching for Lance’s wrist and guiding it right back where it was. “I…I like it. When you touch me.” 

His voice is so fucking breathy and embarassed and it goes _right_ to Lance’s cock. And maybe that makes him a bad person, but he doesn’t _actually_ feel like he should be guilty, because Walter is his fucking _boyfriend._ Giving him explicit consent. And he’s not _actually_ a little kid. They’re two grown men who’ve been dating and fucking for around four months, now, so this—this is just more trust, more experimentation. It’s not anything _weird._ He doesn’t think so, anyway. “S’ok if I touch you when you're like this?” He asks again, just to be certain. 

Walter sucks the inside of his cheek, refusing to look up. “Yup,” he eventually says. “I really like it.” 

_Oh._ Lance’s heart is racing all of the sudden, his stomach in confused, hungry knots. His hand is shaking as he experimentally squeezes Walter’s ass before sneaking his fingers back under the flap and rubbing at his skin with curious fingers. “Yeah, baby boy?” he says gently, tracing feather-light and closer to his crack, pulling his pert, soft cheeks apart a little. Lance can _imagine_ what he looks right now, his winking pink hole, the pale skin flushed from being squeezed, and _fuck_ , his cock is getting hard in his sweats, twitching at the thought. He feels _crazy_ , stunned it’s turning him on so much, to touch Walter under his onesie when he’s _just told him_ he feels like a little kid. This is never something he’s thought about before explicitly, never something that even _registered_ to him as a possibility, a role-play. But now, he’s half-hard in his sweats and can hardly breathe. Walter is pliant in his palm, gaze wide and glazed, unfocused even as it’s fixed unwaveringly on the TV. 

“You like when your daddy plays with you?” he asks, mouth dry and stomach knotted because he’s not sure if it’s too weird, too far. It feels like shooting in the dark, but _god,_ does he want Walter to call him Daddy. He feels like maybe it’s something he’s subconsciously wanted for a long time, but never _listened_ to because he was too scared of what it said about him. Or what Walter would think. 

He must hit a target because Walter fucking _whines,_ body tensing up as he rocks back into the pressure of Lance’s fingers greedily. “I _really_ like it, daddy,” he breathes, rubbing his hot face into the skin of Lance’s throat. “Don’t stop.” 

“Ok,” he chokes out, shaking his head. _This is so fucking hot,_ and he doesn't know why. If it’s the taboo, the newness, the fact that Walter clearly _likes_ it so much, hips pumping subtly in the air, hard cock tenting the front of his onesie as he squeezes his thighs together. Or maybe it’s just that being in love has fucked him up, made him open to and desperate for anything and everything he can get with Walter. “How about you lie down, huh baby? I can rub your back. You can close your eyes, we can turn the TV off,” Lance offers, because he’s open to a lot of things but he doesn’t actually think he can do anything sexual with _ponies_ on the TV. He draws the line at ponies. 

“Ok,” Walter murmurs, melting against him, adjusting so he’s curled on his side with his head pillowed on Lance’s lap, mouth only a few inches away from his cock. It makes Lance’s heart pick up in his chest again, Walter licking his lips, rubbing his cheek into his thigh while Lance palms up and down his back with one hand, using the remote to shut off the TV with the other. On the downstroke he deftly unsnaps Walter’s butt-flap, moving it aside so his sweet, pale cheeks are totally visible through the window of fleecy blue fabric. It _shouldn’t_ be hot, Lance has _scolded himself_ in the past for thinking these PJs in particular were hot…but he has _permission_ to feel that way, now. To look and look, and drink his fill. So he does. He’s staring, thumbing as the cords on either side of Walter’s spine when he sleepily mumbles, “I liked it more—the way you were touching me before. ” His breath is hot, humid and so fucking close to Lance’s cock it makes him twitch. He curses under his breath, shifts his weight and then, tentatively, smoothes his hand down to bare skin again.

“Here?” he asks with mock nonchalance, palming over Walter’s ass, playing with it as Walter sighs happily. His skin is so soft, and there's something about the context of this whole thing that makes it feel _softer._ Untouched. “Like this better?” 

“Yeah,” Walter murmurs, smiling faintly. 

“Ok, sweetheart,” Lance answers, getting the picture. He’s _meant_ to push it, he’s _meant_ to touch Walter exactly where he wants to touch him. This isn’t a game. Or, it is, but he knows the rules now. He grazes his fingers tips down the crack briefly before resuming his exploratory rub, tracing idle shapes and meaningless patterns into Walter’s cheeks, occasionally dipping between them before sweeping back up to his hip, or down to the soft hair of his thigh. He can _feel_ Walter positively _soaking it up,_ practically _purring_ as he softens with each deliberate, teasing stroke. 

Lance is definitely hard now, cock thick and needy and flexing at Walter’s exhalations and whines. He’s getting closer and closer to the crease of Walter’s ass, and the mere knowledge he’ll be _touching_ him soon, rubbing his tight little hole through the flap in his onesie…it’s too much. He keeps wanting to touch himself, free his cock from his sweats and take it in hand, but he’s not sure if that’s too much, too— _lewd._ He’s touching Walter, sure, and they’re both turned on, but there’s something so _soft_ and intimate about it, and as a result the air feels fragile around them. He doesn’t want to shatter that. 

Luckily, Walter is the one who brings it up. Lance is very, very lightly tracing a finger up and down his crack when Walter’s hand creeps up into his lap, tentatively brushing his cock through his sweats. Lance jumps, heart in his throat at the sudden, nervy pang of sensation. “Sorry,” Walter murmurs, wiggling his hips, demanding the touch back. Then, he curiously touches Lance’s erection again, almost like he’s never seen one before. “What’s happening, Daddy?” he manages to force out, cheeks so hot, like just _pretending_ he doesn’t know what he’s doing to Lance is a turn on. It twists low and hot in Lance’s gut, the _innocence,_ or at least the mockery of it. They _both_ know Walter’s an expert in turning men on, so his gentle, searching touch feels all the more filthy. 

Lance lets out an uneven breath, rubbing his index and middle fingers into the sweet, humid crease of Walter’s ass as he says, “Nothing, baby, you’re just—you’re making your daddy feel real good, that’s all.” 

“How?” Walter asks, voice reedy, weak as he continues to touch with aimless, feigned curiosity. “M’just lying here.” It’s _maddening,_ because the touch is not centralized or deliberate or _focused_ enough to really do more than _tease._ It’s making Lance want to buck and seek pressure, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to dislodge Walter, or scare him. Which is absurd, because none of this is _real._ It’s all a game, but _still,_ Walter is playing his part with such commitment, Lance _has_ to meet him halfway. So, he schools his reactions, takes deep, measured breathes as he squeezes Walter’s ass, loving the way it’s small enough he can cover it with a palm, but plumb enough it fills his grip out, round and juicy. Then, because he’s paranoid and he wants to make sure this is all still ok, he asks “color?” 

“Very green,” Walter answers automatically, licking his lips, flicking his gaze up for a moment. 

That makes Lance feel immediately better, bolder, replacing his worry with a surge of unfettered want. “Yeah, you’re just lying there but…It—it feels good, for me, just to touch you, baby. Makes your daddy feel like the luckiest man in the world, to have you right here,” he explains then, finally _finally_ dipping his index finger deep enough intoWalter’s crack to nudge against his tight little hole. “To touch you right here.” 

“You can touch me more,” Walter murmurs, rolling onto his stomach a bit to make his ass more accessible. Lance withdraws his hand just long enough to suck his fingers into his mouth and get them wet (and _jesus,_ fuck, they taste like Walter, spice and sweet and salt all at once, so good, so dirty,) so that there’s less resistance when he rubs over the furled muscle this time. Walter rocks back into the touch, mouth open and gasping. “Daddy—“ he whispers, hand moving to cover Lance’s bulge with exploratory hesitance, “Can I—can I see it? What it looks like?” 

“Fuck,” lance grinds out, rubbing sweet, insistent circles into Walter’s fluttering rim. He's opening so _easy,_ so ready to be fucked, to be _played with,_ and Lance is dizzy with it, how willing he is like this, how open and _wanting._ He lifts his own hips, upsetting Walter’s head for a moment so he can get his sweats down around his ass and hips. “Yeah, you can baby boy. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes— _oh,”_ Walter gasps, settling back into Lance’s lap, staring at his cock with wide, awe-stricken eyes. “It’s big.” 

Lance _knows_ it’s big. He’s always known it was big, and since then Walter _himself_ has commented on it countless times…how _full_ he feels when Lance is inside him, how much he loves choking on it, how lucky he feels. But for some reason, hearing him say it _like this,_ breathless and thick with overwhelm, feels like the _first_ time. Maybe because they’re acting like it’s their first time _._ Or maybe because Walter is acting like its his first time _ever._ Lance doesn't know what to say at this point he’s so drunk with the dirty raw newness of it all, so he just strokes himself right in Walter’s face, watching those stunned blue eyes track the motion, bright and curious. “You want to touch?” he asks eventually, remembering with a weird jolt that this is _Walter,_ Walter who’s jerked him off about ten hundred different times in different circumstances. Just never this one. 

He holds his breath as Walter murmurs out a soft distracted _“Please_ , Daddy,” as he reaches out clumsily. “What do I do?” He breathes, stroking his fingertips up the shaft so light it’s almost as if he hasn’t touched at all. Then, as he thumbs experimentally over the broad, glistening crown as a bead of precum leaks out his slit, “it’s all wet.” 

Lance is gasping, kneading greedy fistfuls of Walter’s as at this point, too turned on to maintain grace or rhythm. “Yeah, baby, you make it that way. Make Daddy all big and wet,” he explains through grit teeth, dipping back down into Walter’s crack to rub at his hole, firm but gentle. He keens, shifting his hips, hole twitching under the pressure. “Make a fist around it, like—yeah, just like that. Doing so good, my good boy,” he murmurs, fucking into the hot, perfect pressure of Walter’s palm. “Move it up and down, sweetheart.” 

Walter does as he’s told, though at a slower, more leisurely pace that Lance is used to, and with less certainty. His grip is too loose, too gentle, and Lance realizes it’s because Walter isn’t trying to _get him off,_ he’s getting off on _pretending he doesn’t know how to get him off._ And it’s so fucking _hot,_ to watch his parted lips shining in spit, the angle of his wrist, everything slow and careful and expertly- _inexpert._ It’s like getting to glimpse a moment in his past, Walter playing with his first cock, feeling it out. Lance watches him attentively while he rubs insistently at the puckered skin under his fingers, drunk on the sucking heat of his hole as he teases it open on his fingertips. “This still feel good?” he asks, pushing his index finger into Walter just up to the first knuckle, gentle and slick with saliva and sweat. “You like your daddy’s fingers here?” 

“Yes,” Walter whimpers, inching closer, cheek hot against the now bare skin of Walter’s thigh as he absently mouths at the air. “It’s so good— _ugh,_ Daddy, it—I want—“ 

“Tell me what you want, babyboy,” Lance hisses, balls tightening up, cock _aching_ at the way Walter’s labored breath feels so _close,_ like a wish, like a promise. “Use your big boy words,” he risks, stomach _rolling_ as he says it, tight with dual shame and arousal. He can’t believe he’s doing this, that _they’re_ doing this, but more than that he’s just shocked at how much he’s _loves_ it. How much he's getting off on the charade, on playing with Walter’s hole while he touches his cock like he’s never touched cock before. 

“I want to taste this stuff,” Walter finally mumbles, pushing his fingers through the messy slick of precum shining at the tip of Lance’s cock. “And for—for you to keep touching me there while I do it.” 

“ _Damn,_ yeah, ok, you can—here,” Lance mumbles, gathering some precum on his own fingers before pushing them into Walter’s sweet, hungry mouth. He knows where this is going, and he can hardly see through the haze of static that’s fallen like snow over his line of vision. Walter _loves_ sucking dick, and he’s _very,_ very good at doing it. He can swallow all eight inches of Lance’s cock down without any difficulty, and he’s always sloppy and wet and eager and tireless. The thought of him like _this,_ trying it for the first time, _realizing_ how much he likes it…Lance can’t _wait_ to see him figure it all out. Or _pretend_ to. Reenact it. Walter sucks his knuckles hungrily, tongue soft, mouth gasping as he withdraws. “How does that taste? Not too bad?” Lance asks, thumbing into Walter’s bright red cheek to see the bloodless mark it leaves. 

“Good,” he slurs, eyes pupil-wide and hazy as he looks at him, wordlessly begging. “More?” 

“You can lick it, baby, like a lollipop,” Lance grits out, curling his fingers around Walter’s to help him guide his cock down to the perfect pink pout of his lips. His other hand is still playing with his ass, tip of his finger buried in vice-tight heat as Walter rocks his hips subtly into the pressure. He _knows_ he could easily push deeper, but he likes keeping Walter on the edge like his, the way he’s _seeking out_ the invasion, backing himself up onto it desperately. His cockhead brushes Walter’s plush mouth, and he feels his own breath catch. “That’s it. God, you look so pretty, baby. Daddy’s good boy. Give it a little lick, with your tongue,” he breathes, untangling their fingers along his shaft so he can pet Walter’s hair instead. “ _Fuck,_ you make daddy feel so good,” he gasps, lost in the tentative slick of Walter’s tongue. He’s _deliberately_ too gentle, too curious, too _light_ with his sweet little kitten licks. It’s hot and slippery but not _enough,_ and Lance wants to fuck his mouth so bad, wants to see those pretty pink lips stretched tight around his girth, but they’re _playing,_ so he’s got to go slow. This is his little boy and he’s never _done_ this before. 

Walter pulls back, sweeping his tongue over his lips as he looks up. “Like that?” 

“Just like that, sweetheart. So good. You can—you can put it in your mouth, too, but only if you’re ready. Don't have to do anything you don’t want to do.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He opens his mouth and sucks the tip, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, just as his hole flexes and spasms around Lance’s fingertip, forcing it out. Lance brings it to his mouth to spit a frothy mouthful of spit into his palm, rubbing it messily into Walter’s crack, slicking him up so he can bury a whole finger in the tight, gripping heat of his ass. It’s _easy,_ he sinks right in with no resistance. But it still shocks him, twists white-hot in his gut, how eager Walter’s body is to take him. He _knows_ he can take so much more than his, (Lance’s whole _cock_ sometimes without being fingered open, if he’s turned on enough and they use a ton of lube) but it’s the whimper he forces out around his mouthful of cock, the dirty curl of his spine, the hungry, shameless way he’s letting himself be touched. “God, opened right up for me,” he whispers, staring down at Walter’s sweet, hesitant suckling. “You’re daddy’s boy, aren't you? You love this.” 

Walter nods without saying anything, eyes a flash of overwhelmed blue as he glances up, lips sliding wetly over the crown of his cock, dark brown against candy pink. And it’s in that moment that Lance notices how _hard_ he is, too. Cock straining against his onesie, a dark, wet spot where the fleecy fabric is stretched tight over the tip. Just _seeing_ that—what this is _doing_ to Walter—makes Lance lose his mind a little. “Goddamn,” he hisses, pulling his finger out, making Walter groan around his cock and writhe as he chases the sensation. “C’mon, baby. Come get in daddy's lap, I want to feel you,” he begs, tugging gently on Walter’s hair. “Right here,” he gestures, patting his stomach. 

It takes Walter a few seconds of dazed blinking and scrambling to get it right, but eventually he catches up _, s_ traddling Lance’s waist, thighs spread to bracket his hips, weight suspended over his thighs so he’s not quite sitting on him but wavering above him, their foreheads pressed together. “Daddy,” he murmurs in a raw, desperate moan as he ruts his cock into Lance’s hard stomach. “Touch me again, please. I feel. Feels empty.” 

“I got you baby boy, just relax, let me take care of you,” Lance tells him, kissing his cheeks, the skin fever-hot under his lips. He _wants_ to lick into Walter’s mouth but something about that seems filthier than anything else they’re doing right now so he holds off, kneading his ass cheeks instead, spreading him obscenely, rubbing his hole, cracking him open like ripe fruit. “Sit back. I want you to feel something.” 

“Ok,” Walter whimpers, hiding his face as he relaxes in Lance’s lap, back naturally arching. It’s easy, then, to manhandle him where he wants him, to prop him up just right so Lance can push his cock up lengthwise between his cheeks, crown catching on his rim, dirty and suggestive. 

“Fuck. Feel that? Daddy right against you?” He growls into his ear, thrusting in stilted, measured strokes so he rubs against, but not into, Walter’s hole. 

“Yeah—unh, it’s—your so big. S’warm,” Walter whimpers, wiggling his hips, creating more slick, filthy friction. It’s maddening, and Lance’s heart is pounding from being teased, from wanting more than he can take. 

“God you feel so good sweetheart, wish Daddy I could push up inside you, inside that hole.” 

“You can,” Walter chokes out, voice all breath and want and the tarnished shine of feigned innocence. “If you want to.” 

“You’re not big enough, baby. Your little hole is too tight, I can’t fit. Have to fuck you like this, just like this. Rubbing against my babyboy, thinking about how hot he is inside,” Lance gasps, cock throbbing as he thrusts against Walter, fucking his ass-crack, the motion slick with precum and their combined spit. 

Walter is shaking in his arms. groaning wordlessly against his throat before he gasps, “ _Fuck,”_ cock flexing against Lance’s stomach, where he's rubbing it into his bunched shirt, seeking skin. The word is so _jarring,_ such a character break Lance stops for a moment, carding a hand up through the back of Walter’s hair to ask, “Color?” 

“What?” Walter mumbles, sounding drunk, lost, blissed out beyond recognition. 

“Color, baby. Checking in about your color,” Lance reminds him, hips stuttering as he tries his hardest not to fuck into that sweet, teasing heat again. 

“Oh, god, So green. So fucking green-—‘m _close,”_ Walter wheezes, grip tightening on Lance’s shoulders as he shifts around, rocking against him, rubbing his ass up the length of his ass desperately. “Daddy, please.” 

“Ok, got you, babyboy,” Lance promises him, curling an arm firmly around the dip in his lower back to hold him in place as he fucks against his hole. “You touch yourself? When you're alone and thinking about me? S’ok if you do, you can tell me,” he murmurs, and Walter sobs, circling his hips, starved for friction. 

“Yes. I—I touch myself here,” he whimpers, uncementing a hand from where he’s gripping Lance’s bicep to push a hand between their bodies and undo a snap on the front of his onesie. He gets his cock out, the tip of is red and glistening and so goddamned pretty Lance has to stop himself from just throwing him down on the couch and sucking it. 

“Ok. Touch it now, for your daddy. Let me see,” Lance begs, loving the way he can _feel_ Walter’s hole clutching and fluttering against his shaft every time he drags past it. “God, every part of you is so perfect. You look so good, Daddy’s pretty boy. All mine.” 

“Daddy, you—I want you _inside_ ,” Walter begs, cock visibly dripping as he jerks himself off clumsily, beads of precum landing fire-hot on Lance’s skin, making him gasp. It’s then that he realizes _he’s_ close, too. From Walter bouncing in his arms with graceless abandon, with the slick, hot, perfect heat of his ass sliding up and down his cock, hole maddeningly close but not close enough. Really, though, it’s not anything physical that has him teetering on the edge, but the _context,_ the play. The searing build up, the tender, careful negotiation, the _newness,_ even if it’s an illusion. He feels like he’s about to see Walter come for the first time, not just with him but _ever,_ and the insanity of that has him gasping, pulsing, aching. 

“You’re too little, baby,” he reminds him, digging his fingers into Walter’s crack and deeper still, into his hole. “But when—when I finish. I’ll put just the tip in, so I can fill you up. That sound good? You want your daddy to make you all messy inside?” 

And just like that, Walter cries out, seizes up, and comes. The whole of his body is trembling, cock spilling hot and sloppy onto Lance’s shirt and stomach, hole spasming madly and _fuck,_ the wild, hungry feel of that pushes Lance over the edge, too. He curses, lifts his lips just right and pops the crown of his cock into Walter’s hungry, fluttering hole just as he lets go. Walter keens again, gasping and sitting _down_ on Lance’s cock, innocent act totally forgotten as he effortlessly swallows a few inches with a broken sounding moan.Those inches _would_ be more if Lance didn’t _stop_ him, hands tight on his narrow waist, locking him into place as he gasps his way through his orgasm. 

Eventually Walter collapses into a mess of shudders, rounding his back so Lance slides out in a mess of come before he melts into a boneless heap on top of him. “Color?” Lance rasps, hand drifting up and down Walter’s bony spine, riding the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

“Green,” Walter murmurs between pants, grinning against Lance’s throat before he licks the sweat there teasingly. “Can I kiss you now? I really fucking want to kiss you, oh my god.” 

“ _Same,_ boy, get up here,”Lance orders, hauling his boneless weight up so he can seal their mouths. They kiss messy and breathless for too long, long enough Water clearly gets dizzy and needs to pull away to get his bearings again, lips swollen, spit on his chin. 

“Ok so—-provided there’s a next time we do that, maybe you can teach me to kiss?” he asks, where his head is heavy on Lance’s shoulder. Lance pets his hair, lips tingling, thinking _yes, yes,_ imagining the whole _universe_ of possibilities they can explore since unlocking this very particular thing that Walter clearly likes a lot. (That they both like a lot.) He’s so lost in the boundless daydream it takes him too long to answer, so Walter misreads his silence and pulls back, staring with wide eyes, flushes cheeks. “Oh god, did you hate it? We don’t _have_ to do it again, I—I _know_ it’s really weird and —“

“No, no, baby, shhh, hey,” Lance murmurs, reaching out and pressing a palm firmly over Walter’s plush mouth. “I loved it. Love you. Just give an old man a minute to catch up to you, ok? _Damn_ you move fast. I’m still catching my breath.” 

He releases him, and Walter sheepishly half-smiles, cheeks still so red. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I just. I felt like I was keeping this secret for so long and It’s so fucking nice to finally—that you know. And aren’t freaked out.” 

“M’not freaked out,” Lance says, shaking his head, cupping Walter’s face to thumb along his jawline tenderly. “I’m _intrigued._ How long is long? ” 

“How long what? How long have I wanted to call you daddy and pretend you _were_ my daddy? Ummmm since before I even _met you properly,_ and you were some unattainable workplace crush. So like, embarrassing,” he whines, collapsing back into Lance’s arms to hide his face. “You were _so_ hot. Are so hot. S’not my fault.” 

“Damn. Guess we have a lot of catch-up to do, huh?” Lance asks, grimacing as he tugs his shirt off and uses it to mop up the come that landed on his stomach before handing it to Walter so he can clean himself off. “We can make a list of things you want me to do. Like, teaching you to kiss. Got that one. What else?” 

“What else do I—like what scenarios so I want to play out when m’like—wanting this?” Walter asks, voice thin and overwhelmed like this is _too much,_ like he cannot _believe_ someone is willing to meet him here in his dirt, in the ruins of his lost innocence, and build something new from it. Lance squeezes him, heart clenching because Walter is too fucking young to think people won’t stick around and sink their fingers into all his loveliness. 

“Yeah. Like—I, personally, want to teach my babyboy how to take daddy’s cock. I could lay you out in bed, lube up all your toys, stretch you out with plugs until I think you can take me. We can go real slow,” Lance offers, grinning and craning his neck to get a good look at Walter’s face when he says it, because he fucking _knows_ it’s gonna fluster him. 

Sure enough, Walter blushes, squirms, sputters as he says, “ _Fuck,_ um, _yeah,_ that’s perfect. Like, could have come out of my diary perfect. How—how did you catch on so quick, to all of this? I thought—I was so sure, if anyone was ever willing to play along with me, I’d have to coach him and it would be weird? But you just—you get it.” 

Lance shrugs, combing his fingers messily through Walter’s wreck of hair. “You—you’re already my boy. My baby. And I _already_ sort of feel like I corrupted you so? Guess we were both halfway there. Ready to meet in the middle or some poetic shit like that.” 

Walter is quiet for a moment, and then he sniffles, rubbing his cheek into Lance’s chest, right over his tattoos. “Told you you were perfect for me.” And then, after a longer moment. “Daddy.” It feels good to be called than, even when his dick _isn’t_ hard, so Lance smiles at the ceiling, and pulls his boy, his _baby,_ a little bit closer. 


End file.
